


Cola Shakes

by Rhanon_Brodie



Category: Arctic Monkeys, British Singers RPF, Indie Music RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Belts, Blow Jobs, Cheating, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Light BDSM, M/M, References to drug addiction, Slash, Spanking, Tumblr Prompt, but not really, dub con if you squint, references to current relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 12:37:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4101214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhanon_Brodie/pseuds/Rhanon_Brodie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bump isn’t going to be enough.  Tonight, Jamie wants the entire eight-ball.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cola Shakes

**Author's Note:**

> All recognizable elements herein are the property of their respective owners. The remaining content is mine.
> 
> So, here's a Jamex fic based on a prompt loosely based on an episode of 'Rescue Me'. A lot of Jamex shippers are falling out of the woodwork as of late, and I'm having a glorious time discussing head canon with them all :) Thanks, Stanzie, for putting the idea in my head and loving this so much.

It’s been a hellish two weeks, the first four days making him sluggish with a cold, which wouldn’t have been so bad had he not been playing in one-hundred degree weather. When he finally came round to feeling a little more human, that scorching weather was gone, and replaced with rain, which drowned two sets back to back, and cut a third one short, only to continue pelting the sides of the tour bus as they thundered along over endless miles of highway, day after day after night. The hotel in Austin was a blessing; when they’d rolled in he’d gone directly to his _own_ room (no more sharing rooms these days, but he won’t admit he misses it), and slid between the cool, crisp sheets, and slept until early evening, when Matt’s incessant phone calls had roused him, and he’d pulled himself together enough to get something to eat. 

That had been two days ago, and now, all Jamie wants to do is go back to his room and try and get some sleep. He’s aching for it; there’s something strangely pristine about sleeping in hotel beds. He’s never been sure what it was, but he loves it, loves the idea of being a vagabond of sorts, even if he’s got cash to spare, sleeping in a different place every night.

His favorite spot, of course, is tucked away in his flat in Sheffield, Katie curled into his side, a slip of blonde hair and sweet skin, purring like the kitten she is.

For now, however, he’ll have to settle with Nick roaring in his ear as he tries to steer both of them across the floor of the bar, past the throng of people who’d been at their gig and can’t help but stop them at every turn with praise, and handshakes, and requests for photos. He’s pulled this way and that, and kisses land on his cheek, while hands land on the lower ones, and he has to extricate himself from a few more-than-friendly groups of young women before he and Nick finally make it to the bar and order another round of beers for their table.

His hopes of it being the last round are fulfilled. It’s becoming too crowded, and Matt is yawning, and Nick is beyond caring about anything other than more beer, so it’s Jamie who announces the end to the night, and he ignores the pout Alex provides in protest.

Besides, they stop to get another case of beer on the walk back to the hotel. Placidly, they stumble along the sidewalk, arms slung over shoulders, pausing to wheeze with laughter, and weave with thought. Jamie lures the three of them back to his room, because now he has an out - when they all file in and crack open beers, he’ll be able to kick them out in less than an hour, and get between the sheets and just pass out.

_This_ round of hope, however, is quickly dashed as Matt drops onto the bed with a groan, and quickly whips out his phone, his thumbs working madly as he texts the green-eyed girl he met during their video shoots, the one he says has him hook, line, sinker. Jamie likes her, not that his opinion makes a difference, but it makes things easier among the four.

Meanwhile, Nick busies himself tearing open the top of the case of beer, and is quick to pass bottles around, laughing at the dismal state of one particular group of girls that were hardly old enough to drink, made apparent by their excessive eye makeup and the fact they could barely talk straight, let alone see straight, and insisted on taking selfies with all of them, despite their protests. The memory makes Jamie swipe at his chin where one of said girls landed a sloppy kiss, depositing a smear of ‘Bing’ over his skin and whiskers, much to his chagrin. He’d gotten it cleaned up in the bathroom, but that didn’t mean the other three lads didn’t tease him incessantly for the rest of the night. 

That had all changed when Alex, having wandered off into the melee, had staggered back - dazed, dopey, and covered in all colors of kisses. The sight had made Jamie roll his eyes and toss a handful of napkins his way with an uttered, “Clean yourself up, Al,” trying to avoid leering camera lenses that would splash the news on every social media account it could find, and no doubt land Alex in hot water with Alexa _again_. If there was one thing alcohol did to Alex Turner, it was turning the rather quiet, oft introverted, dark-eyed lad into a raging, flirtatious beast, prone to being over-friendly with anyone who’d let him.

The thought catches Jamie and makes him look at Alex.

And Alex is staring right back at him.

Quickly, Jamie whips his head back around and concentrates on popping the top of his beer. When he’s wrestled it open, he chugs half of it back, and thinks that maybe he should have gotten something stronger. The weak feeling in his chest that comes from Alex’s lingering gazes is getting harder to weather with every passing day. 

He finishes the beer two minutes later, and digs for another, and then one more. He’s five down when Matt quietly slips from the room, phone still in hand, nose buried to screen, mile wide grin plainly conveying his insane affection for the girl on the other end. He remembers Alex clambering up on the bed, some loud declaration on his lips that tips into their war cry of:

_“I lost my accent, I live the dream, but I still like my ale because I”m from High Green!”_

Over and over they chant it, and Jamie joins in because he helped piece the fucking thing together, while he and Alex were plied with whiskey and memories, jaggedly playing riffs that would turn into _Don’t Sit Down_ … 

Jamie feels the bed dip as Alex springs from the one double mattress to the next, his t shirt already up and over his head, hooked on long fingers and spinning recklessly like some cliched stripper who’s had too much cherry wine. In his blurry vision, Jamie takes in the softly golden, smooth swath of Alex’s naked back, and chest, eyes lingering a little too long on where those jeans rest on lean hips, and the belt buckle Alex had picked up at the bike shop in Orange County glints in the dull lamp light. 

Alex staggers on loose feet, and his knee collides with Jamie’s shoulder, causing the younger man to erupt into a fit of giggles and snorts, before he hooks his thumb into his belt and shouts another chorus of _High Green_ , before kicking his legs out in front of him, and landing with a _flop_ on the edge of the mattress beside Jamie. “Have another drink wiv me, Jameh,” he breathes, his bare shoulder rubbing up against the worn, black cotton of Jamie’s t shirt.

Jamie wants to shake his head. He wants to say no, to protest against where he knows this is heading. It’s not a good idea to get drunk with Alex and - and Alex. Jamie frowns. Nick has disappeared, and now it’s just Jamie and Alex, and these situations have a way of getting out of hand. It’s already started, really, with the warmth radiating from Alex’s body, the proximity of the slighter lad, the rubber in their collective limbs, and the liquor and lies on their tongues.

“Should probably call it-”

“Nah, c’mon, one more, yeah? M’goin’ t’have a smoke, an’ there better be a fresh beer for me when I get back.” Alex knocks his shoulder into Jamie, and the gesture is meant to be playful, but from the time they were teenagers it’s been anything but. There is always a reason for everything Alex does, and Jamie is no different. He leans into Alex, but tries to ignore the hot wash of Alex’s breath over his neck, and the way Alex presses his nose into Jamie’s shirt and inhales. 

Alex stands a moment later, and searches for his shirt so he can steal onto the balcony to smoke. When he doesn’t locate it right away, he spies his jacket and slips it on over his naked torso, zipping it up while he faces Jamie. He doesn’t miss those blue eyes narrowing as Jamie calculates his options and tracks the zipper’s path up.

With a deviant purse to his lips, Alex quickly leans down and pushes a quick, wet kiss to Jamie’s mouth. “Be righ’ back,” Alex murmurs, before he turns and steps onto the balcony.

When the door slides shut, Jamie exhales and opens his eyes, before swiping his tongue over his lip. His fingers are curled into the bedspread and he loosens his grip, grimacing at the way his fingers are clawed. It’s so different from when Katie kisses him - the girl is a bounce of lips and hips, smiling mouth pressed against his, and it makes him relax, and linger in her perfume. She’s like sugar in his veins, or maybe LSD, like that one time he dropped a tab in Joshua Tree and floated about for twelve hours until Alex caught him and dragged him down into the undertow.

Alex is his cocaine, the shit that gets stuffed in his system and blurs his thoughts and actions. Every time Jamie has a bump of that dark hair and clever mouth, he’s a goner, riding the high until he’s torn everything apart, and he’s not recognizable in any way, shape or form.

By then he’s in too deep, and he takes another bump, because maybe that will change things.

It doesn’t. It merely makes him hate himself the next morning, watching as Alex catalogues the bruises and bites, a fond smile on his lips as he presses his fingers over each one. Trophies, he’d mumbled once.

Like Jamie’s affections were something to be won.

+

Jamie is far too morose for Alex’s liking. Leaning back against the balcony’s rail, Alex smokes, inhaling and exhaling rapidly, trying to determine his course of action. He’s watched the blond all night, trying to get a lock on his demeanor. Sometimes, Jamie is more elusive than Alex, and Alex isn’t so naive to not know what’s on the older lad’s mind. He just doesn’t think there’s room for it here, between the two of them, in hotel rooms and dressing rooms and studios, far removed from lives once-lived, or half-assed lived, or anything of the sort. He doesn’t think about Alexa at these times, and he’s always amazed (and a little seething) at the way Jamie dotes on a girl a thousand miles or more away.

_How can anyone love someone for so long?_

Of course, the question is contrary; Alex has loved Jamie longer than Katie has, and he knows that Jamie has loved Alex at least for part of that time. But lately it seems like Jamie’s doing everything in his power to distance himself from it, to make it past instead of painfully, obviously present.

He watches Jamie flop back against the mattress on the other side of the glass, sees the blond’s hands scrub over his face and then trail down over his chest, the gentle rise and fall of each breath completely captivating. Alex knows that Jamie smells like clean denim, dark beer, cloves and bergamot, and, if he plays his cards correctly, that scent will mix with that of Alex’s cigarettes, and the sweet tang of sweat, and come.

That last thought makes Alex grunt, his jeans becoming tight, and he crosses his legs as he leans, and effects a cheeky pout. Raising the cigarette to his mouth, he sucks briefly, and then blows a series of rings while plotting. God, he’d been grabbed and groped so much that night that he’s actually sore in places, and not that good, thorough, just-been-fucked soreness. He knows if he goes back to his room right now and closes his eyes he’ll hear nothing but the roar of the bar, and the shriek of forced laughter in his ear.

Really, there are so many other sounds they could make that will drown everything else out. With another quick inhale, Alex pitches the butt over the rail behind him, and he reaches for the door, sliding it open with a rush of temperate air, and smoke.

At the sound of the door sliding open, Jamie sits up, blue eyes bright, but bleary with drink, and he sails a hand over his hair, smoothing the sides and back out before heaving a little sigh. “It’s getting late,” he murmurs from behind his hands as he scrubs over his face.

Alex’s mouth twists wryly. He knows a dismissal when he hears one, but it’s not like Jamie out and out told him to go. 

“But?” Alex murmurs, toeing his shoes off and padding across the carpet to the bed. His fingers drape over the open lid of the cardboard case and then drop down to deftly pluck two green-glass longnecks out. He’s slick with his movement, dancing to the edge of the mattress, his free hand dipping fingers into his hip pocket to reveal the church-key he’d stashed there earlier. Now he uses it to pop the tops from the bottles, and prolong the evening. He doesn’t miss the way Jamie’s fingers close around his as he hands off the bottle.

“But there’s still beer, apparently.” Jamie doesn’t bother moving an inch when Alex sinks next to him on the edge of the mattress, and once more, their shoulders are pressed against one another, no room for miscommunication.

Alex is content to drink in silence for the moment, his gaze sliding over Jamie’s throat as it bobs with each swallow of ale. He traces the other features too: purely anglo-saxon, round, ruddy face, deep set eyes that hint at underlying petulance, and the plush curve of his bottom lip pressed to the bottle.

It doesn’t take them long to finish their beers, and Alex leans down to set his empty on the carpet. When he sits back up, Jamie is staring down into his own empty, clearly fighting an urge that Alex feels welling in his own veins. So, Alex makes the decision for him, and plucks that bottle from Jamie’s fingers, lets it drop with a dull thud, and then presses a palm against Jamie’s chest, feeling heat, and a rapid heartbeat. It makes Alex smile.

There’s not much fight in getting Jamie to lean back to his elbows, and his knees spread like invitation, to which Alex readily RSVP’s. He climbs into Jamie’s lap, gently lowering himself to Jamie’s body, slotting his pelvis against the older lad’s. A sigh shudders in Jamie’s chest, and he closes his eyes before his hands curl and flex, and then land on the soft denim covering Alex’s lean thighs.

“Alex,” Jamie breathes, somewhere between a protest, and a plea.

“Jameh,” Alex murmurs, a hint of pleasured humour in his voice.

“This isn’t a good idea.”

“I know,” Alex agrees, rolling his hips forward and causing Jamie to catch him and still him. Still, Alex leans down and the leather of his jacket creaks as he closes his arms around Jamie’s shoulders. Alex continues twisting his hips in Jamie’s hold until the blond is helping Alex move against his fly. His mouth is a hair’s breadth from Jamie’s, but he doesn’t move beyond that. “It’s never a good idea, is it?” He softly whispers.

+

Jamie’s certain Alex can feel him vibrating beneath him. His breath shakes and collides with Alex’s panting; when Jamie licks his lips, he hisses when his tongue grazes Alex’s bottom lip. That’s how close they are; Alex heaves a tiny whimper and grinds his pelvis into Jamie’s, humming when Jamie can’t help but buck with a grunt. The blond’s face burns with shameful lust at his body’s response to Alex’s - he’s hard, and thick, and the rush of blood would be almost painful if not for the hot prickle of lust that accompanies it. Really, he’s been wanting this all night; beer may be a balm, but Alex is his crutch for his sprained lack of self control. He wants Alex. He craves him. He needs more of him every single day.

And he hates him for it.

His fingers catch Alex’s hair in a tight fist, and he snaps his hold, jerking Alex back another half inch so he can look into dark irises. He sees the humour there, lurking in the shadows, and he sees burning carnality, and that smug sense of self that no one else is aware of. 

Alex hisses with the burn in his scalp, and closes his eyes, pressing his head into Jamie’s hold, craning his neck, mouth open, searching for more of that sharpness that comes with sharing Jamie’s bed. He lets out a breath and waits, holding still for Jamie’s inspection, wondering where he’ll strike first.

He goes for the jugular. Seeing Alex’s pulse jump like that makes his hips jump in turn, and Jamie holds the younger lad still as he surges forward and attacks, his mouth rough as he licks, bites, and then licks again, before sliding his lips up over Alex’s jaw. The boy sags in Jamie’s hold, causing the pull of his hair to tighten. Jamie doesn’t miss the relieved murmur of Alex’s submission, and it spurs him into action. He shrugs Alex’s hold from his shoulders, and holds the younger lad’s wrists at the small of his back. The makeshift bondage puts a hitch in Alex’s breath, and his eyelids flutter in a way that Jamie can only describe as euphoric. It injects a supercharge into Jamie’s blood - he is not gentle with Alex, never soft, rarely sweet. Alex is the hard edge on which he hones his sharpness.

“This is wrong, Al,” Jamie growls, before his lips roughly glance off of Alex’s. His cock is throbbing in time with his pulse, remembering the tight, hot grasp of Alex’s body, and the way the boy submits, and lets Jamie take.

“I know,” Alex hisses, craning his neck to get more contact from Jamie’s mouth. When he gets it, he whines, and opens his mouth up to Jamie’s searching tongue.

The slighter lad tastes like copper and beer, like something too sweet, and slightly chemical, but Jamie can’t get enough. His tongue slides against Alex’s, flicks and swipes, as he turns his head one way, and then the other, until Alex his breathless, and his bottom lip is stinging from the rasp of Jamie’s whiskers.

“It’s bad,” Jamie continues, trying to talk himself out of Alex’s hold, even as his hand tightens on Alex’s wrists where he’s pinned them to the smaller man’s back. “Tell me it’s bad,” he roughly growls, narrowing his blue gaze up at Alex.

Alex nods, gnawing his lip to the point right before he tastes blood. Pulling against Jamie’s hands, he leans forward, ignoring the strain in his shoulders and opting instead to concentrate on the strain in his jeans. He’s rock hard, and not ashamed in the least as he ruts against Jamie, whimpering in desperation. “It’s sooch a bad thing, innit? This drug, this high, it’s so wrong, Jameh, but I want it. I always want it.” Craning his neck, he gets close to Jamie’s ear and licks the shell wetly, groaning at the taste of Jamie’s skin, and the smell of his hair, before sighing, “You’re my bad habit, Cookeh, bitin’ me nails, scratchin’ me itch, makin’ me forget.”

The confession shocks Jamie. He didn’t know he affected the dark-eyed lad in the same way, but he sees it now, in the way Alex bends to his will, and his hands, and finds pleasure in doing so. The high may be different, but the means towards it are the same. Shifting his hips, Jamie maneuvers Alex back so that he can look him in the eyes again, but his gaze inevitably slips down to Alex’s mouth, Alex’s jaw, his throat, the gold chain peeking out from the open zipper of his jacket, down further to those tight, faded jeans, and how they don’t hide anything. He leaves off Alex’s wrists, wrapping the fingers of one hand back into the dark waves of Alex’s hair, while his other hand drops right to Alex’s cock, digging the heel of his hand against the hard ridge there. He strokes and squeezes Alex as best he can, the denim making the contact less, but the urgency fevered. 

A bump isn’t going to be enough. Tonight, Jamie wants the entire eight-ball.

Alex utters a curse, and then suddenly finds himself with his face pressed to the mattress, while Jamie’s hands curl about his hips and yank his ass up, and back, into his pelvis. “You do the same thing, you know that?” Jamie whispers hotly, grinding into Alex’s denim-covered ass, fingers splayed wide on the outside of his thighs. “You’re my fucking addiction, Alex.”

Autopilot engaged, Jamie reaches for the back of his shirt and tugs, ridding himself of the garment, and tossing it in the general vicinity that Alex had chucked his. Alex watches it sail overhead, and then lets out a groan when he hears the telltale _click_ of Jamie’s belt buckle opening. Sweaty palms are pressed to the bedspread as Alex holds himself steady, hips bucking backwards of their own accord. 

Of course, Jamie chuckles at Alex’s eagerness, his lips twisting ruefully as he twists and wiggles until he’s lost his jeans, and his boxers, and he’s perfectly naked. The sight of his hard cock pressed up against the back pocket of Alex’s jeans where the wallet and the phone have worn ghostly squares into the cotton is a startling sight. He’s only like this with Alex - rabid, and shaking the cage within. He turns into a fucking animal, and the thought both thrills him, and makes him anxious: he’s always afraid that one night he won’t be able to keep it in check and that it will surface with Katie. The idea of her sporting bruises from his fingers holding tightly, and bite marks on her neck to show her who’s in charge makes his stomach turn. 

Hence his need to regulate, his need to lay Alex out and inhale long, lean lines of the lad, one after the other, so that fire is tamped down to smoking embers for a time, until Alex swoops in and fans them back to life once more. Every time they get to this point, Jamie wonders if this might be it, if this might be the time the agonizing flames of desire are finally extinguished, and every time he surfaces with aching lungs, and burning skin, and hazy memories that linger just a little bit longer. 

Draping himself over Alex’s back, he is acutely aware of the scrape of Alex’s jacket against his bare chest, the supple leather pulling at his nipples as he shifts his weight. Jamie fists Alex’s hair and reaches under the lad beneath him to tug open his belt, and pull open the button fly. He finds Alex’s cock immediately, palming the hard flesh through the soft cotton of briefs, giving a few rough tugs that do nothing for the younger lad save for frustrating him further - Jamie recognizes that petulant grunt that Alex heaves, and smiles. He roughly shoves his hand to the back of Alex’s skull, uttering, “Stay,” to which Alex replies with a nod of his head, his eyes closing serenely.

“You’re no good for me,” Jamie roughly declares, peeling Alex’s jeans down, taking the black briefs with them, pushing the cotton until it’s bunched around Alex’s thighs, immobilizing him further. He can smell the electricity in Alex’s skin, the liquor soaking through his pores, and he growls, and snaps his palm against the flesh of Alex’s outer thigh. “An’ I’m no good for you.” He slaps Alex harder this time, making the boy cry out hoarsely, and moan, and nod vigorously.

“Yes,” Alex gruffly replies. “Can’t get you out me system.”

“Aye, that,” Jamie agrees, sliding his hands up Alex’s thighs, over his ass, to his hips, his thumbs scraping up on either side of his spine. He pulls roughly again, jarring Alex against his cock that rages beneath his fly.

Alex gasps, and gulps, and nods once more. “God, Jameh, this is so fookin’ wrong.” His eyes screw shut like he’s afraid to watch, like he’s afraid to see the way Jamie digs into his system and winds his way through his blood. “Please,” he whispers. “Oh, please, Jameh, gimme summat to soothe the burn, yeah? Me veins are on fire.”

If he only knew. God, if he only knew, if Alex only fucking _knew_ that the pain was the same for Jamie. As it is, he flexes his fingers into Alex’s skin, digging harder until Alex stiffens and cries out sharply, and tries to twist his hips free. He likes it when Alex suffers. Likes it when he begs. Likes it when he loses sight of the shy, introverted lad he’s supposed to be, and turns into something that Jamie can bend to his liking.

“You’re right,” Jamie sighs, pushing his thumb into his mouth a moment later and ladening the digit with spit. His other hand leaves off Alex’s hip, and he shakes his head at the younger lad’s sense of false relief. He hasn’t even _begun_ to touch Alex, and he knows Alex knows it, and before Alex can form any sort of protest or plea, Jamie’s hands are back, that wet thumb sliding over the tight entrance to Alex’s body, the other a constrictor at the base of Alex’s cock. “And it’s _wrong_ , Alex, tell me again, I need to hear it.” Jamie ignores the roughness in his voice, the one that comes at these moments. He doesn’t sound like himself, and well enough - he _isn’t_ himself; the thing that Alex brings to the fore is a frightening, skewed reflection of Jamie Cook, like a funhouse mirror, or something from a dream.

“Wrong,” Alex manages to gasp, squeezing his eyes shut when the pleasure flares so quickly, his teeth clamp together.

Next, Alex hisses, toes curling as he feels cool wetness spread over the cleft of his ass, and the warm, sure grip of Jamie’s fist around his cock. For a bloke who’d never had a bloke, Jamie was a natural - but then again, weren’t all men masters of male anatomy? He wonders if Jamie has ever given himself the same treatment, and tucks the thought away for later. They don’t usually share pleasantries beyond tangled tongues and bruising hips, but Alex learned early on that when it comes to Jamie, to never say never.

Jamie’s thumb leaves off, and Alex is distraught, a whine in his throat, a plea on his lips, and both serve to bring Jamie’s hand down on his ass with another sound _crack_! Alex keens thinly, and tries to hold still, gasping when the zipper of his jacket is torn open, and the leather is tugged back from his chest, off of his shoulders, and yanked down his arms until it’s bunched at his wrists. The angle he’s caught in allows for no movement; his arms and shoulders are strained, and his neck is wrenched, but it’s nothing compared to the loud, obscene sound of Jamie spitting, the spray of saliva tainted with beer landing on his sensitive undercarriage. 

Alex’s face burns with a hot rush of shame, and pride, as Jamie’s mouth lands wetly, and savagely, against his arse. A broad hand lands on one of Alex’s ass cheeks, pushing it to further open him to Jamie’s searching mouth, and he hears the grunt and curse in Jamie’s worship, better than any drug he can take. Jamie wants him, wants to devour him, and the thought itself consumes Alex and makes his cock twitch, much to Jamie’s delight.

“Please, please, _please_ , Jameh, god, _Cookeh, hmf_!” Alex’s begging is muffled by the bedclothes, and his fingers flex and twist behind his back. A flick of Jaime’s tongue against the strip of thin skin between arse and balls forces Alex to let loose a thick moan, his mouth open, frustrated tears rolling down his cheeks to mingle with the drool pooling at the corner of his mouth. He’ll soak the bed through with everything he’s got before Jamie’s done with him; a tremor of some dark, twisted fantasy goes through him when he wonders if all that wetness will ever include blood.

Sometimes it feels like it does, but early morning catalogues reveal that Jamie has never broken skin. He comes close, for certain - blood has welled in the scrapes from Jamie’s short, sharp nails, and it pools beneath the skin with the bitemarks and sucking bruises, but it’s never spilled, and Alex can’t decide if that’s a good thing, or a bad one. He can’t think straight when Jamie is involved, least not like this with the guitarist madly tonguing him, wet sounds abound, and his callused hand wrenching his cock with little style beyond rabid need.

“Oh, _fook_ , yes, you little bitch,” Jamie growls, tuning his head to sink his canines into the taut flesh of Alex’s arsecheek. “Fookin’ beg me, yeah?” He licks another stripe over that dusky skin and leans up, still jerking Alex’s cock at a precarious angle, the delicate head pointed down to the bed and making Alex squirm. “Beg me to stop.”

A garbled cry leaves Alex, and he gasps, and forces his tongue to work. “Stop, Jameh,” he utters. He opens his eyes and manages to spare a glance backwards, catching that impossibly blue gaze.

“Again,” Jamie growls, leaning to one side, flicking his gaze to the coral jut of Alex’s cock, then back to Alex’s eyes. “It’s so fookin’ bad, Alex, an’ so wrong: _beg me to stop_.”

Alex plays along, and tries to keep the smile from his face. He’s always a willing partner, but he still utters a hoarse, “Cookeh, stop.” He’s familiar with the darkness chugging its way through Jamie’s blood and brain.

Jamie _does_ stop, and Alex chokes on a curse. “J-Jah...Jameh?” He’s shaking with need, and confusion, and he looks back to see Jamie slip from the bed and move to his suitcase, rummaging around for something.

“Hush up, Al,” Jamie grins, clambering back onto the bed a moment later. He tosses a small bottle of lube next to Alex’s head, and the singer lets loose a little whimper of relief. Jamie takes a moment to contemplate his next move. Alex is quite lovely trussed up like this, half-clothed, covered in spit, offered up rather beautifully for the taking, but Jamie isn’t quite satisfied.

He strips the jacket from Alex’s arms, but is quick to come back with the belt from his own discarded jeans, and he loops the length around Alex’s elbows, slipping the tongue through the buckle and pulling it tight, putting an arch in Alex’s spine, and bowing his shoulder blades together. The strain makes Alex groan, and Jamie pauses, letting him adjust, and sets about moving the younger man when he gets a faint nod to continue. Alex is game. The thought bounces in Jamie’s belly.

He turns Alex over onto his back, arms immobile and trapped beneath his torso. Curling his hands into Alex’s jeans and briefs, Jamie tugs the rest of his clothing free, stripping the lad, which allows Alex to push his heels into the mattress, bring his knees up, and arch his hips, trying for any sort of contact on his cock. He’s been leaking since Jamie first touched him, and now he’s a sticky, slick mess, precome steadily pulsing at the tip and sliding down his shaft.

Jamie grabs his thigh, and brings his palm across the other one, sharp, and quick. “Can’t wait, can ya?” Jamie murmurs, his eyes carving glacial paths as they track up and down Alex’s body. “Yeah, me neither,” Jamie replies, even though Alex hasn’t answered with more than a soft whimper. His head hovers over Alex’s lap for a split second, and then he’s swallowing cock, and sweet precome, and Alex shouts hoarsely as his hips snap up, driving his cock further into Jamie’s throat. 

The guitarist hums around the thickness in his mouth, and sucks hard, practically pulling the oxygen from Alex’s lungs in the process. Broad hands land on Alex’s narrow hips, pinning him to the bed as Jamie’s mouth continues. It’s hard, and it’s fast, and it doesn’t last long. As Jamie pulls back with a groan, his tongue flickers over the smooth head, and his eyes find Alex’s once more. He grins at the sweat on the younger lad’s brow; the strong features are twisted into a mask of aching pleasure. With a quick movement, Jamie grapples Alex’s hips and flips him back over to his front, and starts once more on his ass, sucking and biting the soft globes of his cheeks while his hands push and pull Alex until he’s balanced on his knees, his face pushed to the mattress once more.

By now, Alex’s head is spinning. He’s been flipped, tasted, tongued, sucked, and flipped again, all in some sort of sexual tilt-a-whirl that’s plunging his senses into oblivion. He’s whining now, cursing Jamie out, begging him, “Joost _fook_ me, Jameh, fook me an’ make me feel it.” His arms flex in their bonds, fingers curling and grasping at the air.

It’s painful, in a burning, gut-tumbling sort of way; painful in that way where Alex is fairly certain he shouldn’t be enjoying it, but can’t help relaxing and gasping his profound pleasure as Jamie’s cock breaches his ass inch by fevered inch. Jamie doesn’t do slow, but he’s not a two-stroke bloke, either, so he takes Alex’s ass in a way that can only be described as ‘casual’. There’s a tempered, winding swing of his hips, and he settles a hand on Alex’s thigh as the other winds the end of the belt round his fist, and tugs, making the dark-eyed lad meet him thrust for thrust. The hollow clapping of skin against skin rises up around them, shot through with gasps and grunts

“Please,” Alex whispers, almost inaudibly.

Jamie leans down, belt slackening. “Please, what?”

“Harder,” Alex breathes.

“Harder?” Jamie echoes, punctuating it with a thick, deep thrust. He tugs the belt taut, wrenching a crooked grunt from the younger lad.

“Ah, fuck, _yes_ ,” Alex hisses. “Harder, oh god, Cookeh, harder. I want it. You want it, too. I know you do.” Despite the angle of his head, Alex manages to glance back at Jamie from over his shoulder, dark iris gleaming with need. “You need it,” he wheedles. “An’ I need it. Don’t deny us both.”

Another turn, another jostle of limbs, and loss of being filled. With an indignant howl, Alex falters, and keeps begging, gasping out loud. He babbles, “Why, Jameh, oh, please, Jameh, please, why’d you stop, don’t stop.” 

Then, Alex is on his back, arms trapped beneath him as Jamie grapples those lean thighs and pulls them wide to cage around him. “Don’t you get it, Al,” Jamie breathes, taking his cock up and lining the tip along Alex’s hole. “I _can’t_ stop.” He pushes in an inch and Alex arches like a bow and fights to put more leverage in his hips, to help Jamie in any way he can. “I _can’t_ stop, an’ I _won’t_ stop,” Jamie continues, panting, pushing further, sinking up into the inferno that Alex is, pausing now when they’re nose to nose, their mouths just shy of touching, chest kissing chest with every heavy breath. “Because I don’t _want_ to.” His kiss comes next, viciously hot, and wet, and soul-quaking.

And Alex _feels_ it. Feels every hitch in Jamie’s breath, the vibration of conviction, the weight of words pressing down on him as Jamie rushes his veins, burns his system, and blackens the edges of his vision.

Oh, _Christ_ , does he feel it.

+

_They think they’re fooling everyone._

_And, for the most part, they are._

_But as they sit across from one another at the breakfast table the next morning, the clatter and clang of the restaurant surrounding them, it becomes more than a little obvious to Nick what’s going on._

_Matt’s got his blinders up, and that happens when you’re in love, and that thought rocks Nick through to the marrow in his bones. Blinders up when you’re in love. Is that why the shade of purple on Alex’s skin doesn’t bother the lad? Nick frowns into his mug, and follows the not-so-subtle glance Alex shoots Jamie. Jamie wouldn’t be so fucking obvious if he wasn’t trying his best to **not** meet Alex’s eyes, but it’s like he can’t help himself; when blue collides with brown, it gets muddied, like heroin, and Jamie’s nostrils flare in that way that tells Nick he’s got something brewing in his veins._

_Nick tries to ignore the careful steps Alex makes._

_Tries to ignore the way Alex’s head swivels obediently every time Jamie speaks._

_Tries to ignore the way Jamie’s presence seems to follow Alex everywhere._

_Nick had been worried when they’d started on the road again, that Jamie would fall down that hole - the scare with Jamie’s oxytocin addiction three years ago had shaken them all up, and only been fertilized by the substances that floated around Joshua Tree. They hadn’t hidden it then, the late nights, the LSD, the pot, the hash, and fuck Homme for giving them the green light when he’d said that thing about destroying yourself in the desert. But they’d gotten out alive, somehow, and started from scratch again, or so it seemed. They’d cleaned out their systems, Nick had thought, burned that lingering adolescent kick down and moved past it._

_He’s getting the feeling, however, that they’ve found a new drug._

_It’s not as readily available as the last ones were; it’s not like there are dealers on the street, or one them knows a guy who knows a guy._

_So, Nick tries to ignore the fact that it doesn’t matter **where** you are, you can destroy yourself every night, and try to piece yourself together by morning. And like a puzzle, pieces go missing, and suddenly it doesn’t look the same as the first time you saw everything in its place._

_And he tries to ignore the staggering codependency between the two, but it’s plain to see that Jamie has become addicted, and that Alex is already too far gone to be helped._


End file.
